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As he walked, he backed up, one hand on Brant’s elbow, keeping the kid behind him, making sure they stayed in step. He just had to reach the car, then he could shove Brant down behind the safety of it.
“We can take a shot,” a voice said over the radio. “We’re clear. Do we shoot?”
Travis still had one hand up, that instinctivestaygesture people the world over had used for millennia.
He didn’t dare let go of Brant, either. The kid’s breath had hitched when he passed by his father and Travis could feel the boy shaking. He was holding on by a thread. If Beresford got a hostage, this would all get so fucking ugly, so fast.
Jung spoke up. “We can still take him in. Barnes has it under control.”
Travis wanted to swear a blue streak.
In his peripheral vision, he saw Lloyd, hands moving restlessly on the dirt. If that stupid fool started moving again ...
They reached the other side of the car and Travis grabbed Brant and shoved him down. “Under the car, now.” Brant hit the ground hard and lay there dazed.
Dazed, but out of the line of fire, so Travis moved, forward and out, striking with one hand and knocking the weapon out of Beresford’s grip. It hit the ground and Travis caught Beresford, slamming him against the car hard enough to knock the air out of him.
“Drawing a weapon on a minor, huh, man? Think that will qualify as a violation of your parole,” he said, slamming a fist into the man’s kidney before spinning him around, face first, into the vehicle. “Oh, so willhavingone.”
But Beresford was strong, built like a fucking wall, and he hadn’t spent the past fourteen years behind bars sitting on his ass. He slammed back with his head and lifted up a booted foot to drive down onto Travis’s. Travis sensed both moves and managed to counter, but it cost him precious seconds. He still wasn’t back at one hundred percent after his near-fatal infection—fuck, he probably wasn’t at seventy percent.
Still, he muscled the other man back against the vehicle while the radio squawked in his ear. The fight was brutal and short and he almost had Beresford’s wrists behind him when a booming voice shouted, “Sir,drop the fucking weapon or we will shoot!”
Who had a fucking weapon?
“I ain’t dropping nothing until I see my boy!”
Travis could have punched something, he was so sick with fury, with frustration.
Lloyd Brimley. And damn that prick to hell, that was actualfearin the man’s voice.
“Where’s my damn boy?” Lloyd bellowed in rage.
In his ear, Travis heard Miles speak, voice calm and controlled. “Step back from Beresford, Travis. We’ve got him surrounded on all sides. But Lloyd Brimley has a weapon pointed at the back of your head ... and he’s not very steady on his feet.”
Snarling in his throat, Travis pressed his mouth close to Beresford’s ear and said, “You’re done, you sick fuck. Keep that in mind.”
Then he shoved away from Beresford, with his hands up. “Lloyd, your kid is under the car. I told him to get under there—I didn’t want him caught in any crossfire.”
“Get the hell away from him...I want you both where I can see you,” Lloyd said, panic making his voice shake.
Travis didn’t dare turn around, barely dared breathe. In the reflection of the car’s mirror, he saw Lloyd’s reflection, could see the man weaving back and forth on his feet. Slowly, he moved three steps away, still close enough to grab Beresford but maybe it would enough for Lloyd.
“He’s lying to you, Lloyd,” Beresford said, shoving away from the vehicle and starting to turn.
“Shut the fuck up!” Lloyd screamed. “Don’t move! Brant?Brant!”
Travis heard the scrambling coming from under the scar and he stiffened. “Brant, stay—!”
But he was already rolling out from under the car, dusty and scraped, red in the face. “Dad, I’m fine. I’m right here—”
Beresford hauled the kid’s stocky body to his before Travis could move the distance to stop it.
In his free hand, he had another, more compact handgun. The prick must have been a fucking Boy Scout.
Just like that, the situation went from not good to absolutely fucked.
Isabel shoved her fistagainst her mouth to stifle her cry.
